I'm typically a happy kind of chick, but like everyone else, I'm not in an awesome mood all the time. Sometimes things just make me unhappy: bloating, inconveniences, stepping in dog poop. But the most depressed I've been all week happened just a couple nights ago - and it was all because of some pants.
See, I love the cargo pants I wear for Zumba. LOVE. They're comfy and forgiving and sturdy. I got them when I was skinny and wore them when I was nine months pregnant and everywhere in between. They're hand-me-downs from a fellow Zumba instructor, so I have no idea how old they actually are, but I wear them a lot. Wash and wear, wash and wear, wash and wear - sometimes twice a day, but always a minimum of three times a week. And I Zumba in them, so that's a lot of movement. A lot of booty-bouncing and hip-swiveling going on in those pants.
A couple months ago I decided to add another pair of Zumba pants to my puny wardrobe, so I splurged and bought some. Unfortunately, the peeps who make the Zumba wear have tweaked the sizes a bit since my old pants were made - so the new ones, though they're the same size as my old ones, are too tight.They actually give me a pretty unfortunate cameltoe (if you don't know what that is, just trust me: it's not a good look). And you know, I don't think the people who come to my classes would enjoy staring at all that for an hour.
As a result, I can't wear them until my jiggly behind gets about fifteen pounds lighter. Which - judging by the quickness with which my weight returned after my holiday diet and my eagerness to consume any carbohydrate within a sixty-mile radius - is gonna be a while.
Anyway, I was pretty bummed about the whole "too-fat-to-fit-into-my-pants" scenario. And it made me feel kind of old, because damn it, my metabolism just hasn't been the same now that I'm in my thirties. It's like the calories are all, "You're old now! We can settle right here around your belly! It's just what we do when you're old!" I gain a pound if I breathe in the air around a fast-food joint. It's just not fair.
But then it got worse: my Zumba pants that do fit got a hole right in the crotch. This constitutes an emergency situation in my book. So I did what any seamstress would do: whipped out a needle and thread. (Even though my sewing skillz are far from impressive. I can't glue stuff together right, let alone sew it.)
Only, y'all? I couldn't see to thread the needle. It was ridiculous. I know it's been a while since I sewed something last, but I don't recall having this problem before. Now, though, I was tilting my head back, looking down my nose, squinting, moving into better light, peering over my glasses, looking like somebody's grandma. LOL YOU'RE OLD AND FAT laughed the universe.
After what seemed like a freaking hour of getting progressively more pissed off at this extra-tiny needle, I finally got the thread in. Then it took me like twenty additional minutes to knot it on the other end. But I did it, and got to work sewing up the hole.
Only I accidentally sewed too much fabric. The hole was gone, but now there was a big puckered crease. And also? It started to unravel as soon as I snipped the thread.
I'm too chunky to fit into my new pants. I'm aging. And I suck at sewing.
Time to get back on the healthy eating habits. And in the meantime, get somebody who knows what they're doing to sew my pants.
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